


Moving On

by Liviania



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Between Seasons/Series, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-12
Updated: 2016-08-12
Packaged: 2018-08-07 13:22:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7716355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Liviania/pseuds/Liviania
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fitz is having trouble with Simmons' disappearance; Mack is wrong about why.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Moving On

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Knowmefirst](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Knowmefirst/gifts).



> This is set post-season 2, pre-season 3, because I am terrible at writing breakups.

Mack frowned. By this time every day, like clockwork, he would have received new blueprints for some gadget to help Fitz uncover the secrets of the Monolith. Fitz engineered, Mack built, and day after day they churned out fascinating machines to no effect. Or, at least not the effect Fitz needed. The only exceptions were when Fitz took a trip to chase down some made lead, but Mack knew Fitz had gotten back from his last lead a week ago and had yet to find any more. He knew that Fitz had been growing more dispirited as he gathered more and more data that provided no useful hypothesis, but this was the first time there had been nothing. Worry bloomed deep in his stomach, but Mack stayed cool and professional.

He set aside the small engine he'd been working on, and wrote a quick note on his tablet so he wouldn't forget where he'd stopped the repair. Then, he set off to find Fitz and check on those blueprints.

* * *

The lab contained a selection of agents bustling away with their experiments featuring many beakers full of colored liquid, but no Scottish engineers. Mack credited his quick ability to scan the lab to his height, but in all honesty he'd just been able to tell the instant he walked through the door. The lab lacked the energy Fitz brought to it, especially now that his recovery from his aphasia was nearly complete. However, Mack didn't leave immediately. He headed over to Fitz's workspace to search for clues as to where he might have gone, since he'd obviously deviated from  his usual schedule.

A half-finished set of blueprints lay on one table. Mack bent over to examine the sure drafting that trailed off into a dark, jagged line. Frustration. That had been building for weeks, and was no surprise.

But there, toward the corner, a few lines were distorted. They'd clearly gotten wet, no more than a few droplets, but enough to cause the ink to spread.

Mack hurried toward Fitz's personal quarters. That's were Fitz would go to cry, at least about this. Everyone else had given up on Simmons, and Fitz would never let them suspect he'd given up, too. It was only his fierce conviction that convinced the others to help with his hairier schemes.

The memory of those dried teardrops troubled Mack. He didn't want Fitz to grieve alone, but it wasn't just worry for his friend that he felt. Mack shook his head. He didn't have time to psychoanalyze his own feelings; he needed to go be there for Fitz.

* * *

He knocked on Fitz's door. "It's me, Turbo," he said.

A hoarse voice told him he could come in.

The door whooshed open to reveal Fitz sitting on his neatly made bed, face blotchy and eyes bright. He was one of those rare people who could cry and still look attractive. His expression reminded Mack of a wounded puppy, and Mack quickly squashed the urge to pet him until that expression went away. He could be sensitive but not weird about it. That was what the situation called for.

"Hey Turbo," Mack said, waving a rolled-up tube of blueprints he'd gathered from Fitz's desk. "Found these."

Fitz looked down at his hands, clearly gathering his thoughts. It was a sight that had become less common lately. But it wasn't brain damage causing this silence.

"I know you loved Simmons," Mack said, not entirely sure what to say next. He simply kept his voice soft and moved closer, resting a comforting hand on Fitz's shoulder. He could feel the warmth of Fitz's body, even through the tight knit of the navy sweater he wore.

"Love," said Fitz. "I love Jemma. And that's what makes this so awful."

It was true, Mack supposed. Fitz had lost his best friend. She'd disappeared into an ancient artifact, which didn't offer any sense of closure. They'd been connected at the hip, and then she was gone.

"It can be hard to let go," Mack tried again, silently cursing himself for resorting to platitudes.

"I'm not letting go! I'm just worried about what's going to happen when she comes back," Fitz's voice came faster and faster and rose in pitch as he spoke. Clear signs of distress. "I asked her out to dinner, y'know? A date. A real date. And made sure she knew it was a date. Not a friends date but a date date. When she comes back, she'll want that dinner. And I'm a terrible person because I never want to let her out of my sight again, but I don't want to date her anymore. I'm going to bring her home, but I'm not going to be _waiting_. She's going to come back and I'm, I'm ..."

Fitz looked up at Mack, revealing that he'd started crying again. "How can I do that do her?"

"It's okay, Turbo," Mack said, sitting down next to him and wrapping him in a tight hug. "Time, distance ... it's hard to maintain a relationship when the other person isn't there. But she'll be back and you'll remember how you felt." Mack ignored the twist he felt inside his own gut. This was about comforting Fitz. He could worry about his own feelings later.

"It's not that," Fitz said, frustrated enough that it was clear by his tone even though his words were muffled by Mack's shoulder. "If it was just her being gone, yeah. There's someone else though," he said. He whispered the last bit so softly Mack almost didn't hear it.

Mack drew back a little bit. "Someone else?" he asked. "You haven't told me about meeting any girls." He tried to make it sound teasing, cajoling. Not hurt. It wouldn't be May. And Skye clearly had a thing with Lincoln. It hurt that Fitz had been keeping something, someone, so serious from him. Every day they talked while Mack built the things Fitz invented. They talked about everything, from embarrassing anecdotes of being spotty teenagers to what they'd done that day. Mack thought he knew everything. It was absurd to feel hurt that he didn't. They'd only known each other a year; that was too soon for everything. Mack hadn't even told Fitz he was gay, so who was the one really keeping secrets?

Fitz let out a strangled, sobbing laugh. "You were there," he said. He laughed again, clearer this time, wiping away the tears from his eyes. "You've been there the whole time. And I've noticed. Especially when you take your shirt off to 'keep it from getting dirty,'" he said, complete with sarcastic air quotes. He closed his eyes. "It's you, Mack. I love Jemma, but I'm not in love with her any longer because I love you."

Mack attempted to be discreet as he pinched himself, but his arms were right in Fitz's field of view.

He knew Fitz saw, from the disbelief lightening some of the stress creasing his face.

Mack hugged him again. "One day you'll get Simmons back, and we'll cross that bridge when we come to it. But you are not a terrible person, Turbo. You're smart, a genius, but you're more than that. You're one of the best friends I've ever known and you've got a kind, giving heart. I love you," he said, "and I think you're an amazing person. You're a good person. You're a person who cares about others."

He kissed his lips, firmly but lightly, not asking for anything in return. "And that's why I care about you."

He stared into Fitz's watery, wide eyes, and watched as they brightened as a grin spread across his face. He could imagine waking up to that face for the rest of his life.

They could worry about that bridge when they came to it. There was no time for worry now. Mack's wildest dreams had just come true, and anything was possible.


End file.
